


fateh

by aliensighs



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Ficlet, M/M, Mentions of Blood, Not Beta Read, War, angst? angst, envoy!jun, king!wonwoo, mentions of violence and torture, minor character deaths lol thats the whole point of this, this is very vague with no intricacies detailed whatsoever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:34:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27133243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliensighs/pseuds/aliensighs
Summary: If they screamed while they perished, he does not know. If they begged him for mercy, he'd rather not know.
Relationships: Jeon Wonwoo/Wen Jun Hui | Jun
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27





	fateh

**Author's Note:**

> I've been thinking about this since morning and while I was in class I had the urge to pen this down. I never write my stories according to fandoms, I just think of a concept and decide who I am going to assign to the story as I write it. This one is the same :) 
> 
> thank you for deciding to read it!

_**fateh فاتح conquerer** _

Diplomacy is crucial. When you rule a kingdom with history so rich and ancestors who've done far more than you can fathom to accomplish in your measly life, it is even more empirical to build relations and harbor allies who'd come to your rescue when the earth burns sooty and black. Other powerful entities with prowess and armies roaring louder than the thunder in the heavy sky saturated with shades of furious greys.

Wonwoo knew it too. Ever since he had set foot on the throne, pronouncing his birth right to it and having a death grip on the title belonging to the helm. He was entrusted with the position at the age of seventeen, after they brought back the king's nearly decapitated body and the queen's already demolished one. His mother had always been a fighter, she was never like other queens who'd never or at least never until his own mother set an example, rode out to a battle full of blood and air thick with purposeful killing instinct. She'd spar with the soldiers, pat them down in the blink of an eye and point her index finger to the heavens as she demands the pledge of honour from her contemporaries on the field. Then, she'd turn to Wonwoo and ask him to recite poetry he had so lovingly put together for her. 

The king had never really bothered with him, it was never that he wasn't loved but the turbulences between the nations were too pressing for a boy to be preferred over matters of it's dissolution. And Wonwoo understood it, which is why when they showed him the king, his father, he'd pressed his ear to the hollow shell in disguise of a battered torso even when he knew he would hear nothing. He was meant to go. It was coming for him. The queen though, should've never been taken from her child. She went as reinforcement, it was only until later it was revealed they meant to lure her out of the sheltered guilded walls of the palace. She was a hunting prize and nothing else. 

The fact lodged itself into Wonwoo's disposition, he went to sleep with that thought and rose with the very same each morning. His mother had preached diplomacy, friendship her whole life. Until that life was used as a pawn in the greater, unfathomable scheme of greed and betrayal. She went without teaching her son what he needed to know. What he's come to learn the hard way. That he'd have to shake hands with his parents murderers, assume a persona of acceptance because his kingdom is too weak for another war.

But he was gearing, preparing to regain strength and vitality. To the public, Wonwoo is a coward. The crown prince who didn't give an adequate reply, the prince who never even showed his face upon becoming king. To them battles are all but bedtime stories, glory and pride branded upon the victorious. The gore, the horror and the death is all shed in the discussion. They don't count the bodies splayed on the bloodstained ground, the stench of rotting flesh permeating the atmosphere while raptors glided in the sky watching. They don't beg for forgiveness to the families of martyrs, they don't face the wrath of disappointed soldiers when they hear they would not be attacking. The accounts, the numbers, the repeated offences plague Wonwoo's mind each time he breathes. But he couldn't leave the kingdom alone, his siblings who were only children alone because he knew if he went out to save face he would not return with one. There were amends to be made, and dying would be the easiest way out. It takes fearlessness, to be alive amidst bulky odds against you.

_We are defenders, we never start battles if issues can be resolved by talking. Never strike first or else they already have an upper hand. Never give them something to hold over your head._ His mothers words rang in his conscience on days he felt as if his vengeance would spill over. He was not ready to fight back then, a good five years has passed now. Now, he would yield at nothing. He would wait for the ripest, most proper opportunity to take over. 

On days hatred riddled his lithe body, feelings so intense that he wants to fling himself off a cliff, feelings towards himself and his enemies, Junhui helped. The other would slip into his chambers unabashedly and chatter away at the most absurd moments about the most curious ventures he could think of. Wonwoo pretends he never listens but he does. He would discern Junhui's facial expressions from the tones of his voice because Wonwoo cannot bear to look at his face. Because if he does, then he fears he'll say and do things which would hamper his goals. Wonwoo would surrender even before he went to war. Junhui was well aware, he knew how to bargain and silently reassure his king. His love. He knew because nobody could be that blasphemous towards a king and get away with it, he deliberately pushed Wonwoo's buttons only to be met with the slightest grunts and pretentious exasperation. He would've been thrown out long ago otherwise.

Once upon a time, when they were just Crown Prince Wonwoo and Master Junhui of house Wen, Wonwoo dared. He would take Junhuis hand and look at his beautiful deep eyes while whispering promises lying on plush green meadows where they raked and raced with one another. It's a distant dream now. Wonwoo doesn't dream anymore, he lives it. Wonwoo needs to be the ruler of four kingdoms, not just for his personal agenda of revenge but also so he could make Junhui his. Without guilt and shame, he would think about himself and what he wants in life. In the blur of the moment, and conversations gone sour, he waves Junhui goodbye as an envoy to the lands which he would soon command over. 

Old habits die hard, Wonwoo chants to himself looking ghastly and painfully distraught. His hands shake, while his body breaks into spasms and spells of cold sweat appear on his pale skin. The parchment in his hand crumbles as the ministers gather around him, questioning and holding him in place. The sound barely escapes his chapped lips, they had taken his precious Junhui as prisoner. 

Junhui had been framed of conspiracy, a young diplomat who had entered their kingdom to spew and urge rebellion from the population. Apparently he was caught talking malice to the courtiers and being friendlier than traditionally necessary. Wonwoo breaks the chair in his study that evening. There is no place for kindness in the depths of purgatorial existence. He bellowed for a messenger to be present and seethed "Tell them to drag the outlaw to my courtyard, tell them I will personally make sure justice prevails in my name. Let it be known." 

There are tears in his eyes by the time the messenger is out of the throne room. Icy horror of regret squeezes his heart, limbs weighing him down. He shouldn't have let Junhui leave. He should've known better, regardless of what Jun wanted he should've locked him up if it ever came to that but letting Junhui leave the frontiers of his territory is a tantalising, wounding mistake he had let happen. He quietly begs to the gods new and old, to give Junhui strength, for it will seem like Wonwoo had forsaken him. 

The next few days, Wonwoo is fuelled with the prospects which have landed in his hands. He is a sinner to have thought of it as such when his beloved is being humiliated and tortured away on foreign soil. But he thinks of Junhui, back when his hands weaved through Wonwoo's tangled locks and when he was asked to swear on Junhui's soul to get what he's deserving of, come what may. Wonwoo thinks he's making excuses, at the end his love wasn't stronger than his aspirations. He was not a man who could be respected wholeheartedly, he has no weaknesses. Not even his heart. 

On the day the figures of opposition troops enter his kingdom gates, the gigantic masses of steel and carved wood screeching as if to announce their arrival, it is the onset of winter. The peasant children run along with the horses, their parents swooping in to prevent them from bring trampled in the frenzy. A man who looks extremely notable, adorning shining jewels and the finest clothes makes his way with his chest out. The otherwise colorful displays drown in blatant dreary anticipation, man and animal alike holding their breaths in group cohesiveness. The prisoner walks in the middle of it all, gasps and cries are elicited from the sea of faces. He is dressed in tattered rags, remnants of what must have worn when he was captured. His long hair was nowhere to be seen, uneven strands sticking to the back of his neck barely reaching his shoulders. His wrists and ankles bounded with iron shackles, considerably slowing him down. He's pushed forward on intervals to move faster, his face marred with bruises and dried blood from cuts breaking into a grimace. A little bit more, I am coming my love. Just wait a bit more. 

Wonwoo closes his eyes, breath hitching when his general relays what he had seen on his way to the palace. A few courtiers find it odd when it was well known that it was what their king ordered, it was as per his wishes. 

"Your highness, please forgive me for I fail to understand the purpose of your command. Wouldn't it be better to ambush them? We are ready my lord. We are stronger than ever, we shall never be defeated with your blessings." The minister rises his head to briefly look at Wonwoo and immediately stoops to the ground right after.

"I need Junhui in my arms, alive and breathing sir Jung. Not his corpse decaying in their dingy cells. I will not declare mayhem here only to travel for three days in pursuit of besieging them and find him devoid of any life. If at all." Wonwoo decrees, there was nothing to hide anymore. His affair was out for the world to see, King Jeon Wonwoo luring the Southern King out of his cave so he can be slain.

Junhui will never be used against him. Junhui is his strength, without him he will never make it through. In life or reign. 

At least like this he could still get Junhui back. Hurt yes, dragged in like cattle yes. But alive, his heart still pumping and organs still functioning. It made Wonwoo's skin crawl to think of Junhui being harmed in any way but it the burden of responsibility, to make difficult choices. Maybe if he'd hold Junhui's feet in his hands and beg while he weeps, he'll take him back even after causing irreversible damage. Junhui is kind, Wonwoo doesn't deserve him. 

He asks the courtroom to brace themselves, he signals the ones present in the shadows subtly and stands up on his feet straightening his elegant robes when he hears the announcer proclaim the arrival of esteemed guests. They enter one by one, arrogance laden in their features and with the intention of being impressionable. Oh, there are plenty of impressions alright, Wonwoo retorts to himself. Junhui is dragged in by two of their guards without any dignity whatsoever, his eyes glassy and bloodshot. His feet discolored from even before the tedious journey Wonwoo supposed and his hair, his beautiful hair chopped off like rice harvested with sickles by farmers in _kharif_. Hastily, with no evidence of delicacy. He was only upright because of being supported otherwise he'd assume his place on the floor like a pile of dirty clothes. 

The Southern King stands before Wonwoo, eyes treacherous and lips twisted into a smirk. The entire hall falling into a lull of activity and bustle. 

"You have prepared a lot to welcome us. I have to say I am pleasantly surprised and impressed King Jeon."

Wonwoo grits his teeth when he smiles. He'd requested the throne hall to be decorated as if they'd hold a banquet there. Junhui has brought him the loot, he had always been more giving and appeasing. Anything Wonwoo would want, Junhui would have it the next day. Sounds of Junhui's breathing were enunciated in the open space, almost like a wheeze as if a thorn was poking his lungs. Perhaps a broken rib. But he looks at Wonwoo with such adoration, he cries and hushes himself and then repeats. 

Junhui never sheds tears. He allows himself to be fragile, he has done his job. He stayed alive until he could see Wonwoo again with his own eyes. He smiles, teeth stained with blood and bile from a time he can't remember anymore. And Wonwoo, oh dear Wonwoo smiles back. He had been right, he was not left alone to die. Wonwoo believed in him, and there was no execution awaiting him in his own kingdom. Even though his body groaned in pain, he nods at Wonwoo. _Do it. Think of me as the bait, I've gotten you your prey regardless it was pure luck. What are you going to do now? Play it well, my king._

"Of course. How could I not treat you with the greatest courtesy available to humankind?"

Wonwoo takes the red cloth he had tucked in his waistband and rises it above. He had always thought this moment would feel like pure bliss, he would laugh so loud with joy so palpable that the echoes shall resound the great hall. But he felt nothing. There was no surge of energy, all these days he'd been amenable, he'd been cooperative with demeanor which could be misunderstood as submissive. All for this, crafting an image of himself so trustworthy so that the rat trails into his trap. His lair. He was taking back what was his, he didn't win anything. Therefore, this is repayment of a loan which was long due and Wonwoo had run out of patience.

Wonwoo drops the cloth and tunes out everything which happens around him. He adapts a tunnel vision to Junhui who has been abandoned by the guards by now and walks towards his love. If they screamed while they perished, he does not know. If they begged him for mercy, he'd rather not know. Blood splatters on him, falls on his lips and he licks it like sweet nectar. He gathers Junhui in his arms and beseeches, _I'm sorry I sent you there. Forgive me for not knowing better. Forgive me. I love you. I don't know how to ask for clemency. I am at your grace for as long as I am alive._

Junhui lets himself sink into his lovers arms, collapsing after a wrathful journey. He can close his eyes for a bit, he doesn't think death is coming for him yet. Wonwoo is emperor, all offenders have been rightfully forfeited. His flag would fly high, with their emblem etched on it looking so bright flowing against the benevolent wind. Wonwoo pulls him closer and listens to his heartbeat, erratic but present. Pulsating inside a living body. It's different from the only other time he has done that with someone. It is a celebration. 

'I will personally make sure justice prevails in my name' 

And that, he does. 

__

**Author's Note:**

> so yeah I've been ignoring what I really had to write and wrote this instead. i have no feelings towards it I don't know if I like it or not but hopefully it's not too vain. I wrote the entire thing on my phone hehe. please leave kudos and comments if you liked it. I'd appreciate it a lot. thank you for reading it, take care of yourselves. until next time!


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